Bother Me in perceive me

do i want to be bothered, to have the sanctity of my own thoughts disturbed? To your ear i say no, but the expression of longing masks my face when there’s no one by my side, filling my head with words other than my own. I value displaying a presentable image, but for who? paint my eyes, don garments that advertise what only my mirror and i can see. my heart races in uncomfortable anticipation when someone notices. this isn’t empowering, this is crying wolf. he leans his head out the window, maybe he’s trying to get a better look at me or maybe just trying not to hit the curb as he makes a right turn. either way, i feel like all i am is what you see. intimacy is a false promise that you’ll listen when i speak, although i see the flicker of wanton flame behind your eyes. now hesitant to even let my voice be heard and cater to this delusion. a need to burn the script read by every voice. it’s getting tired. perhaps that’s why i’m pained by the sound of my voice, the hypocrisy is an overtone on every word. maybe that’s why i tear up every time i feel like an emotive response is required, which only ruins whatever convincing expression i was attempting to conjure.
now i feel nothing when i see you with her, if anything it’s happy for her, that she gets to experience your intellect, attention to detail, and your guaranteed remembering of the thoughts she lets you hear. I’ll miss that, and i’m unsure if i’ll get to experience that again. it’s universally appreciated when someone chooses to use their resource of time, focus, and memory on you. i didn’t earn that. i hope she has, and returns the favor in ways i couldn’t justify. i hope the thought of what we could have been isn’t written on my face when you see me. because that’s inevitable.